Seventeen
by DumbHumanLikeYou
Summary: Kurt has to spend the afternoon working in the garage, but he's not going to let it ruin his special day. Not even when a certain bully's car comes in for repairs.


"Sorry I've got to make you work today, kid."

"It's fine, Dad, really," Kurt said, stepping out of the bathroom with his Dalton Academy uniform in hand. He sat down and began folding his oxford shirt, keeping one eye on his father, who was on his back underneath a suspended car. Even though it had been nearly six months since Burt's heart attack, his son was still wary about his health.

"But still, Kurt, first Valentine's Day, and now this? Gary sure picked the wrong week to get the flu," Burt said, sliding out from under the vehicle and standing up. Kurt shrugged, picking at an oil stain in the knee of his coveralls. He hadn't minded working two days ago, on Valentine's Day; watching frantic young couples' evenings get ruined due to car trouble was rather entertaining, and the only celebration of Single Awareness Day he had done was have a marathon phone conversation with Blaine.

"I don't mind, Dad," he said. "I told you I'd work if you needed me. It's the least I can do after making you and Carole postpone your honeymoon to send me to Dalton."

Burt smiled and gestured for Kurt to get the tires he needed before returning under the car. "I'll try to get you out of here as soon as possible. Do you have plans for tonight?"

"Breadstix," Kurt called from the other side of the garage. He located the right tires and hoisted one onto his shoulder. "Not a big party, just a few people." Upon being asked who, he replied: "Mercedes, Rachel, Blaine, Mike and Tina, Artie and probably Brittany."

"No Finn?"

Kurt placed the tires at his father's feet. "He and Rachel are fighting about something stupid. He said he's bringing home ice cream, though. Low-fat dark chocolate peppermint."

He smiled at his father, whose face had lit up at hearing the Hummel men's favorite flavor of ice cream would soon be in their possession. The two changed the auto's tires as Lady Gaga played in the background – Kurt always dominated the radio when he worked at the garage – before his father turned to him, mentally repeating the conversation they had a few minutes ago.

"Blaine's coming all the way here for dinner? After he saw you all day today at school?"

Kurt shrugged and nodded, trying to hide his smile. He had been pleasantly surprised when Blaine asked to come. Almost as surprised as he was when Blaine had showed up at lunch with a homemade cake and led the Warblers in seven-part harmony.

Burt caught his son's smile. "So, are you two… you know?" He couldn't wrap his mouth around the right words, because he could barely wrap his _brain_ around the right words. He looked at Kurt, hoping he would get it.

His widening eyes showed that he did.

"Dad, _no_. We're just friends." Kurt turned his attention back to the tire in front of him, trying to hide the blush on his face. Secretly, he wished he and Blaine were more than friends, but until he was two hundred percent sure Blaine was interested in him, he would go to his grave denying his crush.

"And you spend twelve hours a week on the phone with all your other 'friends'? I am the one who pays your phone bill, Kurt."

Kurt's blush deepened from pink to scarlet, and his father decided to end his questioning and let him off the hook. "Well, if anything changes, let me know, alright?"

Kurt looked up at his father and nodded, smiling slightly. Their silent moment was interrupted by a tow truck pulling up against the shop, carrying a sedan behind it. Burt turned back towards the car he was working on, checking his watch.

"I still need to change the oil on this one. Go figure out what we need to do out there, alright?"

Nodding, Kurt rose and wiped his hands off on the handkerchief he kept in the pocket of his navy coveralls. He strode to the old mirror on the wall, fixing his hair and wiping a smudge from his temple before heading out to see the damage. Waving at Al, the driver, he looked around for the owner of the vehicle. Said owner got out of the passenger side of the truck cab, and Kurt felt his stomach tense up.

Dave Karofsky walked around the front of the tow, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his letterman jacket, eyes on the pavement. Kurt had to remind himself to breathe after the fear of seeing his former bully temporarily paralyzed his lungs.

_Former _bully – that's how Blaine always referred to Karofsky, and he encouraged Kurt to do the same. Although Kurt knew he was safe from the hockey-playing Neanderthal at Dalton, he constantly worried about running into him again in Lima. Would Karofsky be at the supermarket when he and Carole went food shopping on Sunday mornings? Would he watch one of Finn's basketball games, and spot Kurt across the gym? Would he show up at Breadstix with some beard of a Cheerio on the same night Blaine had dinner with him? Kurt had even taken to entering McKinley through the stage door to the auditorium, making a mad dash to the choir room when he had to pick up Finn from a late glee rehearsal. But it had been four months since Coach Sylvester had ordered Karofsky's expulsion, and Kurt knew the two would probably see each other sooner or later.

He took a deep breath and kept his eyes on the car, which Al was backing into the garage. Repeating the mantra of _courage_ in his head, he asked, "So, what's going on?"

Karofsky looked up at him, face void of any emotion. Kurt didn't know if he should be comforted to know Karofsky wasn't boiling with anger, or afraid of what lay beneath the surface. After a moment, the jock opened his mouth, speaking slowly.

"Um… nothing, really. The school board let me back in, and everything's been just – "

"I meant the car, Karofsky," Kurt spat. Realization and then embarrassment dawned upon Karofsky's face, and he silently pointed to the front left tire. Or rather, what was left of the tire.

Kurt couldn't help but let out a small gasp at he saw the mangled clump or rubber. Burt looked up from his oil change at the noise, and spotted his son's bully. He took two steps forward when Kurt looked up and blurted, "I've got this, Dad. Don't worry." He wasn't sure if he actually did _have it_, but the last thing he wanted is to hide behind his father, and show Karofsky he was still afraid after all this time.

Mr. Hummel returned to the car engine, keeping one eye on his son, and Kurt bent down to inspect the remains of the tire.

"How did you not crash?" he asked, directing the question to the car as much as it was to Karofsky. The jock grunted, and Kurt immediately backtracked, making sure Karofsky knew he wasn't insulting his driving skills.

"I mean, most of the blowouts this bad usually cause the driver to lose control and total the car. Most of the ones I've seen, anyway."

Karofsky shrugged, clearly feeling Burt Hummel's eyes boring into him. Kurt looked up at him from where he crouched next to the tire, feeling his fear for the larger boy begin to dissipate.

"This is going to take at least a few hours to clean up and find you a new tire; we don't even carry this brand, because they're known to go flat and blow out easily. I think you should get the rest replaced too, just to be safe." He stood up and leaned against the side of the car. "There's a payphone outside if you need to call for a ride."

"My dad's on his way," Karofsky mumbled, staring not at his face but his chest, where an elaborate cursive _Kurt_ was carefully hand-embroidered with silver thread on the coveralls. Kurt nodded, walking over to the different brands of tires, the jock lumbering behind. They had just decided on a brand when Paul Karofsky poked his head into the garage.

Karofsky took his car key off the ring before handing it to Kurt, who took it delicately; he was focused on making sure their hands didn't touch during the exchange. Dave followed after the elder Karofsky, turning right before he was about to get into his father's car.

"Hey, Hummel!"

Kurt braced himself for the insult he knew was going to be thrown at him.

"Happy Birthday."


End file.
